Kousetsu
by Aeanagwen
Summary: A reincarnation Christmas story for two of the Seiryuu seishi.


Christmas A short story that I wrote around Christmas. I meant it to come out much angstier than it did, more along the lines of my usual work. I couldn't bring myself to do it, so this ended up much lighter in tone than the greater majority of my stories. 

Disclaimer: Not my characters, and I'm not getting any money for this. 

The title means Snowfall. 

**************** 

Kousetsu 

The city was bright with the lights of Christmas, joyful and ringing with music and laughter. Grey clouded the skies with the promise of snow. Groups of people filled the streets, their happiness driving away the bitter cold. 

Few took notice of the lone young man making his silent way down the road. His head was bowed against the chill, his pale cheeks flushed slightly. His eyes, a harsh golden shade, were slightly narrowed, darkened by a shadow of bitterness. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, and though the joy hung palpable in the air, full and sweet with promise, it didn't touch him, swirling around him, then seeping away like a falling tide. 

Stepping with cool grace through the last of the crowds, Toraji turned into the gates of his apartment building. He'd lived here for over a year and a half--ever since he'd dropped out of college, after those dreams had begun. Dreams of pain, of loneliness, of blood, of a mask. Of a man. A blond man, with eyes like the winter sky, and just as cold. Dreams, he'd finally come to believe, of a past life. 

His parents had tried to be understanding, even offering him his old room back. 

He didn't want it. 

He'd taken a job at the local theater, and rented an apartment nearby. The dreams hadn't stopped. Gradually, they had driven him further away from his friends, as well as his family. He hadn't spoken to any of them in months, hadn't answered his mother's tearful messages, his sister's confused e-mails. 

Delete. 

Delete. 

Delete. 

He didn't know why. By all rights, he shouldn't have been alone. He should have been with his family, enjoying Christmas dinner with them. 

But those dreams... 

Toraji thought, sometimes, that the price for remembering a previous life must be paid in present happiness. It was certainly that way for him. 

He didn't know all of the truth; the dreams were too vague for that. But he knew enough. He was a monster. The things he had done, the terrible sins--they didn't deserve forgiveness. No one who had committed the crimes he had deserved redemption. His family, college, a future--all were far more than his due. He should have been burning. 

And all the while, the dreams drew him closer and closer to what he had been. He'd grown withdrawn, sarcastic and condescending when interfered with or pressured. He seldom laughed anymore; when he did, it was soft and mocking, more often than not directed at himself. 

Christmas, to say the least, had little meaning for him. 

He'd tried last year to put up a small tree, the most he could afford on his fairly limited income. It hadn't worked. The lights, so warm in every other window, had seemed harsh in the unadorned emptiness of his apartment. The shadows had sucked away at its feeble light, bringing him no comfort. He'd taken it down Christmas Day. 

Shifting a bag of groceries from one hand to another, he began climbing the stairs to the third floor. The elevator had been broken since before he'd moved in. Somewhere, water was dripping, and the light bulb in the stairwell had burnt out in March. Heedless of the dark and the moisture, he mounted the steps with an ease born of familiarity. Reaching his floor, he opened the door to the walkway and stepped inside. 

He strode silently toward his room, noting the silence with an ironic half-smile. Most of the tenants in the apartment were either out celebrating with friends and family, or, like himself, passing the holiday alone for lack of someone to share it with. 

_Case in point, _he thought as he turned a corner and saw a young woman fumbling with keys to her apartment, next to his own. He drew nearer--and froze, staring at her, a cold wash of deja vu shivering through him. 

Feeling Toraji's gaze, she looked up at him. She was a slender woman, a few years younger than him, with soft, slate-grey eyes. Her hair, a wine-tinted red, was long, and pulled back into a loose French braid, wisps of it falling around her temples and cheeks. 

As he tried to speak, the woman blinked at him in confusion. She obviously didn't recognize him. 

_Which is no surprise, _spoke a voice in his stunned mind. _What I was looked very different from what I am._

"Can I help you?" she asked hesitantly in a dusky alto. 

Silently, he pulled back the hood of his jacket. His long hair spilled down his back in a waterfall of silver-grey. 

She tilted her head, puzzled. "Do I know you?" she asked apologetically. 

"I--I'm sorry," he said in a rush, spinning towards his apartment. _She doesn't remember me. She--shouldn't remember me. Or maybe I'm just insane, and seeing things where there aren't any. _He finally pulled loose the proper key and inserted it into the keyhole. 

"Wait!" she said urgently, catching abruptly at his arm. Against his better judgment, he turned, looking down at her. 

She stared up at him, her face intent as she searched his eyes, one hand absently pulling at strands of his hair. Then, stunned recognition flashed in her eyes. She pulled her hand away as though it had been burned. 

"I do know you," she said softly. "You're..." 

"Yes," he replied, because he didn't know what his name had been, then fell silent. 

Deep quiet fell between them, heavy with shared memories and unspoken pain and immobilizing doubt. 

"I..." she said finally, then trailed off, swallowing. "I'm glad to see you again," she finished lamely, the statement ringing stark and strangled in the chill air. 

"You lie," he said hoarsely. 

"No," she replied, mystification in her eyes. "No... It means--seeing you... It means I'm not crazy. Those dreams are real. I--I was never sure--until now." Her hands fidgeted restlessly on the strap of her purse, then stilled as she looked up. "Would you," she asked slowly, "like to come in?" 

When he didn't answer, his gaze not moving from her face, she flushed slightly, pink coloring her pale cheeks in the dim light of the hallway. "We could--talk..." 

"What's there to talk about?" he said finally, looking away to the chipped and peeling paint on the walls. _Chipped and peeling. Chipped and peeling and fading... Just like me._

"About--about--anything you want," she said, biting her lip. "You're alone tonight, aren't you? I am, too. My name's Saemi." 

His heart hurt. A vague aching, like a memory of pain he didn't understand. He resisted the urge to shudder. Finally, his hands clenching, he nodded, once, murmuring his name. A relieved smile flickered over her face, and she opened her door, nodding him inside. 

Her apartment was small, as was his own. The difference was the Christmas tree set up in one corner. White lights wound carefully up from the base, and all sorts of ornaments decorated it, some of them looking years old. Saemi flicked a light on behind him, and the light bulb in the ceiling switched on. She dropped her purse on the table and walked by him into the kitchen. 

His eyes lingering on the tree, Toraji stepped closer to it, his long fingers lifting one glass ornament, a pale blue globe, with a white dove lined in gold stenciled on its frosty surface. He stared at it for a moment, the faint memory of a pair of cold blue eyes flickering through his mind. He shivered slightly, and took a few steps around the tree, looking at another decoration. An angel, painted on a simple piece of thick white porcelain. Its face smiled up at him obliviously. He flipped it over deftly. On the blank back was painted in careful script, "Handcrafted, 1977." 

"It was my grandmother's," came Saemi's voice from behind him. He didn't turn as she walked to his side, carrying two mugs of steaming hot chocolate. She stared at the old ornament with a soft, sad look in her eyes. "She died three years ago. My family divided up the ornaments, and I took a few of them with me when I moved here." 

Toraji said nothing, conscious of the faint cinnamon-and-cloves scent of Saemi's perfume. Wordlessly, he took the drink she passed him, sipping at it gingerly. It was hot enough to burn his tongue. 

"Sit down," Saemi offered, gesturing to a chair by the doors to the small balcony as she lowered herself onto the apartment's couch. He complied, noting that she had at least bothered to reupholster her furniture, which was more than could be said of the cracked vinyl in his own apartment. Cold air leaking through a crack in the door frame whispered over his face as he stared out at the dark skies. 

"So..." Saemi began hesitantly, as though feeling out her territory with the man she knew and yet never knew--in either lifetime. "How has it been--for you?" The question was vague, aimless. 

He didn't look at her, instead staring down at the muddled surface of the hot chocolate in his hands, the steam rising and warming his face. "...Contradictory," he said at last. 

She almost laughed, it seemed. "I understand," she replied. "It's hard to reconcile two lifetimes." 

He gave a bitter smile. "Harder for some of us than for others." 

She looked at him for a moment, as though debating whether to take offense. Finally, her gaze shifted to her Christmas tree, and she stared into the lights, her eyes distant. "How much do you remember?" came her soft query. 

"Enough." The word was short and clipped. 

She smiled a bit with a quiet hitch of her breath, a short chuckle. It died quickly. "Do you remember--him?" Her voice was almost inaudible over the low rumble of the heater. 

Blue eyes. Golden hair. Tall and lean and powerful. Passionless and ruthless. 

"Yes." 

She gave a nod, expecting the answer. "Some things are impossible to forget," she said, a shadow of sorrow in her eyes. 

"His indifference," Toraji found himself whispering, and even he didn't know whether it was to her or himself or the night. 

Pain flickered over Saemi's face. "His coldness," she replied. 

"How much you loved him." 

"How you'd do anything for him." 

"How you'd give your life for him to notice you." 

"How he never did." 

In that moment, they knew each other. Their eyes met, and the same grief mirrored in golden eyes and steel blue. 

Something in the air broke, and Toraji shook his head. _What am I doing? _he wondered silently. _Spilling everything to her?_

"Of all the people to talk to about this," she said, almost conversationally, "I never would have expected to talk to you." 

A sardonic smile, directed now at both of them. "Who else would understand like me?" 

She sighed. "You're right," she admitted. "God... It hurt so much. I can barely remember, and it still hurts so much." Her fingers tightened around her mug. 

He nodded silent, reluctant agreement. 

"I feel like--I'm remembering more," she said quietly. "Like--being around you is bringing out my memories." 

His brow creased slightly. She was right, he realized. Some of the distant images of that past life were coming into clearer focus. He blinked, trying to sort through the images of blue eyes. "Na..." 

She looked up at the sound of his voice. "His name..." she whispered. "Yes. Na--Naka..." 

For a moment, only the hum of the electricity could be heard, and the whistle of the wind blowing outside. 

"Nakago." The word fell from both their lips simultaneously. With it, the image of the man shone in stark clarity in their minds. 

Toraji placed his mug on the table near him before he could drop it, brushing one hand across his face, a lifetime's worth of rejection and pain flooding over him. 

Across from him, Saemi was trembling, her hot chocolate lapping at the edges of her shaking cup. Moving before he could think, Toraji stood and crossed the distance in a few strides, carefully taking the drink from her. She didn't look at him, instead leaning forward, her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands. As her companion placed her hot chocolate on the lamp table, he glimpsed the track of a tear making its way down her face. 

Slowly, he sat down next to her. After a moment, she looked up at him with a shaky smile. "Thank you," she said softly. 

He shrugged, saying nothing, combating his own memories. 

Saemi stared at his hunched form, the starkness of his dark hair against his pale skin, the sharp bitterness in his eyes. The way his fingers tightened when he wasn't paying attention. The tension in every muscle of his body--as though he were unconsciously waiting to be struck. She reached out a hand and touched him lightly on the shoulder, noting the small twitch at her contact. 

"Thank you," she repeated, her voice soft and grateful, as he looked at her. "I know this can't be easy for you, any easier than it is for me. And you never did like to let people see any weaknesses you had." 

He looked away, and gave a short laugh. "You realize what this means, don't you?" he asked her sarcastically. 

Her brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?" 

"That we're here," he responded, watching her carefully. "That means that he's out there"--he gestured out towards the balcony vaguely--"somewhere, too. And he might not even remember us." 

She bowed her head, pulling back her hand. "I understand that," she said softly. "But it also means... Maybe we can find him again someday." 

He made a soft, noncommittal "hn," staring away from her. "_Find him again someday." For all the good that would do me. I never had a chance with him. At least she's the right gender to interest him. Death hasn't changed my "preferences." There's no reason for it to have changed his._

_And yet..._

His eyes softened slightly, and he turned his gaze to the Christmas tree in the corner, losing himself in the warm glow of the lights. 

Saemi watched him ease slightly, his shoulders gradually loosening. "Even if he doesn't love us in this life either," she said softly, trusting him to listen, "perhaps we can at least be his friends." 

Toraji remained silent for a moment. Finally, he bowed his head and murmured, "Friends." 

_It wouldn't be the same as loving him. But just to see him smile at me, a real smile. To have him trust in me. Laugh with me. Is it possible--that that could be enough?_

He smiled slightly, a genuine smile with genuine warmth. "Perhaps," he conceded. His companion smiled back at him. He looked at her for a long moment, a strange warmth within him that he hadn't felt in over a year. Finally, he looked back at her tree, noting for the first time the empty place on top where a star or an angel should have been. 

She saw his questioning gaze, and stood. "I always wait until Christmas Eve to put on the star," she explained, reaching into a box and pulling out a brightly iridescent five-pointed star. "It keeps the spirit of the season fresh to put a few new things on each night." Facing him, she held it out. 

He stood, looking at the object resting in her hands like a peace offering. Finally, he took it and turned, reaching up carefully and situating it in the top branches of her tree. She stood on her tiptoes beside him, pulling up a few lights to push into the base of the star. She stumbled for a moment, and he steadied her, his hands carefully resting on her shoulderblades. Giving him a bright smile that was all the more beautiful for its brevity, she jammed the small bulbs into place. 

Caught and refracted within the glass, light spilled out over the room, casting its warm radiance on the two reincarnated warriors. In this lifetime, however, there was no fated battle waiting for them, no war god, no priestess, to call them to death. No stars controlling their destiny. 

Only this moment. A moment of peace, shared between two people, two ordinary people, with two ordinary lives, who happened to meet on one cold winter night. 

Outside, softly, it began to snow. 

*************** 

Obviously, it's impossible to write a story about Tomo and Soi without bringing Nakago into it for at least a moment. But I wanted a fic that didn't _revolve _around their love for him, something that focused on _them _more than _him. _Maybe someday I'll write a sequel to this and actually bring the blond in, but I'm rather happy with it at the moment. 

And, yes, I do have stories on characters other than the Seiryuu seishi. I simply focus on them more, particularly Tomo. Look for some songfics to be posted soon, and a Kouji one shot. 


End file.
